The Puzzle
by doctorHolmestuck
Summary: Post Reichenbach, an OC is investigating the truth about Sherlock Holmes and who he really was. With a surprise guest.


It had taken me months but now, finally, I was almost finished the puzzle. The puzzle of Sherlock Holmes.

I knew from the moment the news said that he was a fraud who committed suicide that something was wrong. I'd been looking into the guy, keeping a log of his cases, finding out what made him tick. I liked him. He was like me, he could read people. Granted, he could do it a lot faster than I can.

I was scheduled to meet with his housemate, Dr. John Watson. The report from him, that was all I needed to finish. His testimony about his best friend. Notice I don't say "lover", well that's because they weren't. Sherlock Holmes never had a lover. He had a friend, Dr. Watson.

I hadn't left Australia yet, I was going to the airport in a few hours, but I had finished packing everything that I needed. All that was left to do was to try and convince my family that he was real, again. They never believe me when I tell them about my research, but I knew they were wrong. The facts about him didn't line up. All these things he had done, all the things I had a record of, couldn't have been set up. The case about the Dean of Oxford's daughter couldn't have been a set-up, no-one knew about her rape when she was a child. That's why I knew he wasn't a fraud. The evidence didn't line up, and I was going to prove it.

I was at a cafe in Rundle Street when I saw it; two guys randomly grabbed another guy and were dragging him away. No-one saw, and if they did, they didn't care. I ran to help the poor bloke. I snuck around the corner the guys went down and watched as one guy held the poor bloke steady while the other landed punch after punch into his stomach. He was starting to cough up blood.

Quickly, I grabbed a rock from the ground and threw it at the punching guy. It hit him in the leg. I know I'm a terrible throw. He turned to see where the rock came from. I grabbed my bag and charged at him.

I smack ran into the punching guy. I sent him back about a step. What else do you expect from a 16 year old girl? However, the shock value of terrible attempt at rescue caused the holding guy to loosen his grip on the poor bloke. The bloke instantly took advantage of his situation and slid out of the guy's grasp and started to crawl away. Both guys turned on me.

I'm not entirely sure what happened next, it all happened really fast. I do remember the guys closing in on me, arms outstretched, ready to grab me. Then there was a loud noise and this completely random black car drove in from the street (which shouldn't have happened since cars aren't allowed down Rundle Street, it's a shopping street). The guys saw the car and bolted. The car went straight past me and after the two guys.

I looked back and saw the guy I had gone to help. He was leaning against the wall and clutching his stomach in pain. I went over to help him.

"It's okay," I told him, "those guys are gone now and I know first aid."

"Who are you?" he spoke with a faintly British accent.

"My name's Eleanor and I'm here to help you. Now show me your stomach."

He slowly lifted up his shirt to show me his stomach. I checked him over. He probably had some minor fracturing in his rib and he would definitely need to get a scan to check on his internal organs. I told him so, but he passed it off, said he would "get better".

I helped him up off the ground and brought him over to the nearest cafe. I bought him a drink and we started to talk. Eventually, I started to tell him all that I had learned about Sherlock Holmes, the truth that he wasn't a fraud, and the fact that I was going to meet with Dr. Watson the next day.

He smiled at me then, and finished his drink. He leaned forwards and whispered something into my ear, something I will never forget. "You're right."

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a wink. Then he stood up and started to walk away. He turned at the last minute and said, "Don't publish anything".

"Never," I replied with a smile as my hero walked down the street and out of my life. It's probably best that I don't tell Dr. Watson what has become of his friend; it was for his own safety that Sherlock Holmes faked his own death. Sherlock Holmes will know the right time to reveal himself, and when he does the world will be right again. It will have its hero.

My hero.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
